


mourning sound

by trashinc



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Consensual underage, Daddy Kink, F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Step-Sibling Incest, implied parent/child incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashinc/pseuds/trashinc
Summary: Billy and Max visit Sam Mayfield’s grave.





	mourning sound

On the trip back to Oakland, to see Grandpa Hargrove for Christmas, Max says she wants to go to the graveyard. Susan doesn’t want to. She’s on too much valium to have emotions anymore. She’s not capable of missing the past. Neil couldn’t give less of a fuck about Sam Mayfield. 

Billy offers to drive. Max has her license, but she shouldn’t go alone. Especially when it’s getting dark out. On their way out of the hotel, Susan smiles at him. Like he’s a nice big brother. Doing a nice thing for his brat sister.

Max has gotten taller since Billy moved to Chicago. Even since the last time he saw her—on Memorial Day weekend. She just passed her sweet sixteen. She’s cut her red hair shorter, just below her chin. She curls it into neat waves instead of just letting it go wild. She wears lipstick and eyeliner. She’s got real tits. She’s dressed slutty, in a jean miniskirt and a crop top with Marilyn Monroe’s face stretched across it.

Really, it’s kind of surprising that Neil lets her walk around like this. But maybe it’s not. Neil has always let her do pretty much whatever she wants. She’s not his kid.

Max lights a cigarette as soon as they pull out of the parking lot in their junky rental car. Billy remembers the first time she tried to smoke one of his. Sitting on the beach after sunset. Sharing a stolen bottle of pink zinfandel. She nearly hacked up a lung. He laughed at her.

She called him an asshole and punched him in the shoulder. He told her she was a bitch and threw her in the ocean. The kisses were angry and tasted like salt.

“You look trashy,” Billy says as they sit at a stop light. He lights a cigarette of his own.

“You look like you just got out of prison.” She pokes at his tattoo sleeve. It’s been growing steadily for the past few years. Roses, anchors, skulls, a snarling panther. He still shaves the notches in his eyebrow. He’s got the other one pierced. He keeps his hair long, because bitches love it. They always want to run their fingers through it.

“Still fucking that Sinclair kid?” Billy blows out a smoke ring.

“No.”

“Who’s it now?”

“Jane.”

“Oh yeah? That’s kinda hot. I mean, bet you miss dick. But Jane’s cute.”

“Dick isn’t everything. Like. Shocking as it must be for you, the world doesn’t revolve around penises.”

“Oh god. Don’t tell me you’re on some feminist bullshit now. Is that why you went dyke?”

Max flicks her cigarette butt out the window. “You’re a garbage human, Billy.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t tell me about Chicago. I don’t want to know.”

“OK.”

That’s how it’s always been. Billy’s curious about who else gets a taste of Max’s pussy. She never wants to hear about where he’s stuck his cock.

The graveyard isn’t too crowded around sunset on a Tuesday. It’s the day before Christmas eve. Still sixty degrees out. There’s a pleasant breeze.

Billy follows Max down the winding paths. He smokes another cigarette, then pulls out one of the joints he rolled before getting on the amtrak. He sparks it up and they pass it back and forth. Max’s eyes always get real cashed when she smokes. She’s still skinny as ever. It doesn’t take a lot to get her high.

They stop in front of a plain headstone, in a far corner of the cemetery. There’s nobody else around as far as he can see. He doesn’t hear any voices, or soft crying, or any signs of life.

_Sam Mayfield. Loving husband and father. 1945-1976._

“He was an asshole.” Max wrinkles her nose. She never talks about Sam much. Billy’s always had guesses, but it’s not the sort of thing you mention.

“Yeah? Better or worse than Neil.”

“Different.” She shrugs. “My mom really knows how to pick ‘em.”

“Least he’s dead now.”

“I guess.”

“I can’t fuckin’ wait for Neil to kick the bucket.”

Max curls in on herself a little, just staring at the headstone. Billy drapes an arm around her narrow shoulders. She leans into him.

She’s not the kind of girl that cries. Just like Billy doesn’t cry. They’re both too tired for that.

Max turns, steps in front of him. She rocks up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. It’s needy. It’s sloppy. She uses too much tongue. Her lipstick smears on his chin. He grabs her ass and squeezes.

They end up on the ground. Billy sitting with his back against the headstone. Max in his lap, getting grass stains on her knees. She’s not wearing panties. He’s got two fingers in her, a thumb rubbing her clit. She won’t stop kissing him. She’s trying to devour him. She’s stoned, and sad, and he almost feels sorry for her.

He almost wishes Sam Mayfield were still alive so he could knock the bastard’s teeth in.

Max scrabbles at his belt buckle. She gets his cock out. He’s already hard. He’s been halfway there since they got in the car together. She pushes his hand away and gets on his cock. She sinks down on it so slow.

She’s still tight as ever. Slippery, hot, the best pussy he’s ever had. She squeezes around him so sweet and starts to move, in a slow, dirty grind.

“Missed your cock, _Daddy.”_ She whispers, staring into his eyes. It’s a direct challenge. It’s a fucking gut punch.

He’s not sure if it’s meant to ruin him or if it’s just spitting on a grave. Maybe it’s both.

Billy runs his hand up her flat stomach and pushes up her shirt. He gets his hand on her tit, slipping under her black bra. He squeezes. Pinches her nipple, and rolls it between two fingers. She grabs his other hand and places it between her legs. He gets the message.

He rubs her clit fast and rough until she shudders and clenches around him.

She speeds up after that. Really bouncing on his dick. The wet slap echoes through the otherwise silent air. They’re disturbing the peace. Disturbing the rest of the dead. Billy doesn’t really believe in anything but darkness. It’s dark before you’re born. Dark after you die. The bones in the dirt around them don’t care what they’re doing.

Max’s chest bounces as she moves. Her mouth hangs half open as she gasps and moans. She comes again real easy, right after Billy slaps her ass. Her clit is so hard. She’s starting to gush.

“Yeah, baby.” Billy murmurs. “So perfect for me. Love it when you squirt everywhere. You’re such a goddamn slut.”

“Fuck me, Daddy,” She breathes, husky and raw. Not like she used to sound—so uncertain and embarrassed.

Max is old enough to get off on the dirty things she wants. She’s old enough to understand how fucked up this is and _like it_.

Billy lifts her up. She’s still light enough that he can do it without a problem. He lays her down on the soft grass, right above where the coffin would be. She spreads her legs for him, fingers working her clit. Back arched. On the verge of coming again.

She squirts, and moans, and flutters around him seconds after he slides back in. Billy pounds into her. She clutches at his shoulders. Whimpers. _Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me._

They manage to get her in a rolling orgasm. It’s a rare treat. Moving in her while she can’t stop spasming, and moaning, and twitching. Billy has to fight to hang on. Grit his teeth. Focus on breathing.

When she says _I love you_ , he falls apart like a bitch. He buried himself as deep in her as he can while he rides out the pulses of pleasure. He presses his face into her neck, breath hitching.

“Love you too, babygirl.” He barely mumbles. She’s the only one who’s allowed to ever hear it.

Saying it always makes his chest tight. Because it’s true. It’s true in a way it shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t love her like this. He shouldn’t love her so sick and dirty.

It starts to get a little colder out, the breeze shifting towards crisp. Billy sits back and tucks himself away. He licks some of the mess from between Max’s thighs. Manages to get her to come one more time, which exacerbates the problem.

They walk back to the car on shaky legs. She’s got tissues in her purse. She’s got makeup wipes to get the lipstick off Billy’s face. Trying to erase the evidence is probably futile at this point. But they have to keep up appearances.

**Author's Note:**

> -VP of Trash


End file.
